Deadeye

by William C. Dietz

  Fortunately, he had some good news to report—and that was the fact that he’d been able to get a copy of the building plans for the Nickels home, the hotel, and the casino. The information pertaining to security systems had been redacted, but everything else was there to see.

  They spent the next half hour poring over the drawings, especially those related to the structures inside the hill and the home located on top of it. There was very little detail about the floors immediately below the house. Just two words spelled out in block letters: RESIDENTIAL QUARTERS.

  That raised all sorts of questions. Quarters for whom? Guests? Staff? Or? There was a remote possibility that Amanda was being held there—but Lee didn’t think it would make much sense. And Omo agreed. “We’ve got to be realistic, Cassandra . . . Assuming Tom-Tom purchased Amanda, she’s been sold to someone by now.”

  “True,” Lee agreed. “The medical clinic I told you about is a better bet. I’m hungry . . . Let’s go to dinner.”

  So they asked the clerk at the front desk for a recommendation, were directed to a Mexican restaurant called El Toro, and arrived to find that it was hopping. Two rounds of margaritas preceded meals consumed separately. A three-piece band was playing, and Omo asked Lee if she’d like to dance. This is a mistake, Lee told herself as she allowed Omo to guide her out onto the dance floor. Never date your partner. That’s rule number one. And this feels like a date.

  There were about six couples on the dance floor, and much to Lee’s amazement, Omo could dance! Not just shuffle around the way most guys did but actually dance! The band was playing a Salsa tune, one of her favorites, and it was only a few moments before she fell into the familiar rhythm of one, two, three, back, five, six, seven. And then, in a surprisingly short period of time Omo added a turn, and Lee discovered that she was having fun. So they danced—and danced again. Before long, all of her worries dropped away.

  Every now and then, they took a break, and when they did so, Lee sipped a rum and Coke. So that by the time the bar closed, she was feeling even happier. Something she didn’t experience often and wanted to prolong.

  There was a short drive back to the hotel, but without streetlights, it was a completely different experience. Most of the other guests were in bed by then although cracks of light could be seen around some of the curtains.

  They got out of the truck, and Lee followed the blob of light produced by Omo’s flashlight along a concrete path, past the deserted swimming pool, and up a flight of stairs. From there it was a short trip along the walkway fronting the rooms.

  Lee fumbled for her keycard and felt a little tipsy as she slid it into the slot. The green light came on, and there was an audible click as the door opened. “That was fun,” Omo said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Lee looked up at the mask. “It’s a long way to your room, Ras . . . At least twenty feet. Maybe you should stay here.”

  Omo looked down at her. The flashlight was still on, and the mask was half-lit. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Lee said. “I’m sure.”

  “We can’t kiss.”

  “No, but we’ll make do.”

  Lee pushed the door open and towed Omo inside. It was pitch-black except for the glow produced by the clock and the indicator light on the TV. But that was enough.

  Omo lowered Lee onto the bed and began to undress her. The process went smoothly at first. But then, as he attempted to tug her pants off, the Smith & Wesson got caught on the bedding. Lee giggled and tried to help. That led to an awkward moment in which both parties had to divest themselves of weapons and other police paraphernalia before they could proceed.

  Eventually skin met skin, and the process of exploration could begin. Gently at first, then with increasing urgency, as they found the places they were looking for. “Be gentle, Ras,” Lee said as she opened herself to him. “It’s been quite awhile.”

  Their lovemaking was slow at first, deliciously so, but as both became more confident, the tempo started to increase. Before long, Lee dug her fingernails into Omo’s back. “Please,” she said. “I need you now.” And he was there, helping her up and over, causing Lee to marvel at how intense it was. The result was an explosion of pleasure unlike anything she’d experienced before.

  As Lee held Omo in her arms, and the afterglow began to fade, she felt a sense of guilt. And the first stirrings of fear. A rule had been broken. An important rule . . . And that opened up the possibility that one or both of them would be punished.

  Lee pushed the thought away and listened as Omo whispered in her ear. “I love you, Cassandra . . . I know I shouldn’t, but I do.”

  “And I love you,” she said in return. Because she wanted to love him—and thought that she should.

  Eventually, Lee got up and went into the bathroom before returning to bed. And that’s where she was, propped up against some pillows, when Omo padded across the floor. Thanks to the light from the bathroom she could see that he had a long, well-muscled body, and a puckered patch of skin on his left shoulder. A bullet wound? Probably. It was the sort of thing Omo would neglect to mention.

  There were two mirrors in the room. One opposite the bed and another on the wall to Lee’s left. That allowed Lee to watch Omo enter the bathroom. He stood in front of the sink, turned the water on, and lifted the mask. And that was when she saw his left temple and cheek.

  There were a few patches of normal skin on which black stubble had begun to grow. But they were surrounded by currents of raw meat that flowed in and around archipelagos of black scabs. Lee winced and closed her eyes. Then she heard the water stop and the door close. The mattress gave as he sat down on it. Lee had been crying. But Omo didn’t know that as he lay down beside her and threw an arm over her waist.

  A door slammed somewhere, the clock continued to tick the seconds away, and Lee could feel his warm breath on her back. It was both a comfort and a threat. But she was wearing nostril filters and a mask. She would replace both in the morning. Sleep carried her away.

  THIRTEEN

  THE MADISON MEDICAL Clinic was housed in a preplague business park which, judging from the FOR RENT signs and half-empty parking lot had seen better days. The other tenants consisted of an accounting firm, an insurance company, and a florist.

  Lee parked the rent-a-wreck out on the edge of the parking lot and handed the keys to Omo. “Here you go . . . Don’t forget to pick me up.”

  Omo looked at her. His eyes were serious. “You’re sure about this.”

  “No, but I’m going to do it anyway.”

  Omo made a face, but she couldn’t see it. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Give me a thirty-second head start.”

  He got out, and Lee waited for half a minute before opening the door. She could feel the full weight of the late-afternoon sun on her shoulders as she followed Omo across the parking lot. He staggered at one point, stumbled, and managed to regain his footing. Then he entered the clinic. Lee thought he was overacting, but figured it wouldn’t matter as she entered the lobby just in time to see him collapse. The reaction was everything Lee had hoped for and more.

  All eyes went to Omo, who was clutching his chest and gasping for breath. Someone called a “Code Blue” on the intercom, and medical personnel swarmed the lobby. Lee took that opportunity to slip through the door labeled AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, and enter the corridor beyond it.

  Lee hadn’t gone far when it became necessary to step aside in order to let a woman pushing a crash cart hurry past. Would they use a defibrillator on Omo? That possibility hadn’t occurred to either one of them. But Lee figured Omo would sit up and start talking if they tried to put the paddles on him.

  Everything had gone perfectly up to that point. But Lee knew she had five minutes, ten at most, to find a hiding place and settle in. It wasn’t easy. Which exam rooms and offices were in use that day? There was no way to know.

  Lee
paused to grab a pair of latex gloves from a dispenser as she hurried down the main corridor. Her head swiveled back and forth in hopes of spotting a refuge. Then she saw the door with the word STORAGE on it and came to a stop. After a glance over her shoulder, Lee tried the knob. It turned, and the door opened when she pushed. She flipped the lights on and pulled the door closed behind her. There was a pile of cardboard boxes at the front of the room and a jumble of furniture in back.

  Lee hurried to shed the burqa so it would be easier to move. Then, conscious of the fact that the room had two light fixtures, she pulled a chair over to the center of the room. The second bulb was starting to get hot, but she managed to unscrew it to the point where it went off. That cut the level of illumination by half.

  With that out of the way, Lee hurried to collect the burqa before burrowing into the mass of junk at the rear of the room. There she found the desk and crawled under it. And that’s where she was, busy congratulating herself, when Lee realized that the remaining bulb was still on!

  That placed her in a quandary. Which was more dangerous? To leave the light on? Or go out and turn it off? Lee imagined the scene as a nurse opened the door to find a stranger in the room getting ready to turn the light off. No, Lee reasoned, anyone who enters will assume that one of their coworkers left the light on. The safest thing to do is stay put.

  So she did. But what about Omo? What was happening to him? Surely it wouldn’t take too long for the medical types to figure out that he was okay.

  Wrong. More than two hours passed, and it was nearly closing time before Lee’s phone started to vibrate. Omo’s text message was short and to the point. “Still at the hospital undergoing tests . . . They can’t figure out why my vital signs are so normal. One way or another, I will make it back there in time. O.”

  Lee smiled. Poor Omo . . . Her wait had been easier than his. She sent a brief reply letting him know that phase one of the plan had gone off without a hitch. Then, as she tucked the phone away, the door opened.

  Lee couldn’t see what was going on but she could hear. And it sounded as if someone was rifling through the cardboard boxes. Then came what might have been a grunt of satisfaction followed by a series of thumps. The light went out shortly thereafter, and Lee heard a click as the door closed.

  Was that a normal click? Or was that the sound of a lock? If it was the latter, Lee was well and truly screwed. Don’t panic, she told herself. Everything is okay. The staff will leave, and once they do, you can come out of hiding.

  But even if that turned out to be true, Lee knew she would face a number of potential hurdles. Would one or more staff members decide to work past six? Would she be forced to deal with a security guard? And what about an alarm system? Or was the clinic relying on the barred windows to keep the bad guys out? All she could do was wait and see.

  Finally, after giving the employees an extra fifteen minutes to get clear, Lee emerged from hiding. The first thing she did was to put the burqa back on so that cameras, if any, wouldn’t be able to photograph her face. Then she tried the door. It opened smoothly, and she gave thanks as it clicked behind her.

  Since Lee had no idea of who or what she might encounter, she had the Glock out and ready to go as she walked the halls. It wasn’t long before she spotted a red eye up in a corner and knew the answer to one of her questions. The clinic was equipped with a security system, and it was on. But being a cop, she knew that the system was likely to have two settings. “Stay” would allow people to move around inside the clinic without triggering the alarm, while the “Away” setting relied on motion detectors that would trigger an external Klaxon if a mouse scampered across the floor. That would simultaneously summon the police and piss them off. So rather than run that risk, most businesses chose to use “Stay.”

  In this case, the alarm hadn’t sounded, so Lee figured she’d be fine until it came time to leave. Then, lacking the proper code to enter into the system, she would be forced to open a door and let the system go bonkers. Would Omo be there with the car? She made a mental note to contact him prior to leaving the clinic.

  But what about people? The alarm was on . . . That could indicate that everyone had gone home. It could also mean that one or more employees were working late and felt more secure with the system on. So Lee went from room to room, systematically checking to make sure that the clinic was clear. It also gave her an opportunity to identify which offices to return to.

  But no one else was there. So five minutes later, Lee felt enough confidence to put the Glock away—and make a quick visit to the ladies’ room. Then she returned to what looked like the main office. Would she be able to access one of the computers there? Lee figured she had a fifty-fifty chance. Creating, securing, and sharing passwords could be a pain in the ass. So a lot of businesses chose not to use them—especially if machines were shared. But some did, and the Madison Clinic could be one of those.

  There were four workstations plus a lot of storage cabinets in the room. Lee chose the most organized desk and sat down. The swivel-style chair squeaked as she scooted closer. The screen was dark but came to life when she touched the screen. So far so good.

  As rows of brightly colored icons wiped themselves onto the screen, Lee knew she was in. But what to choose? In addition to a variety of applications, there were lots of file folders on the desktop. The ones used most frequently? Sure, that made sense. But how to interpret the mysterious abbreviations? Take “PWAD” for example. What the hell did that mean? “People With A Disease?” “Patients With Accounts Due?” There was no way to know without wading into it.

  So Lee went to work slogging through the folders, looking for any mention of surrogates, Amanda, or someone who might be Amanda. Hours passed. Omo sent messages every now and then. According to the latest missive, he was outside, hunkered down in the car, eating a cheeseburger. Lee’s tummy rumbled. There had been a candy bar in the lap drawer, but that was long gone.

  More time passed. Lee’s eyes were tired by then, she was exhausted, and gradually losing her ability to concentrate. Then she opened a folder named “SOPV,” or Special Outpatient visits, and saw a list of names. All of them were female, all were in alpha order, and all of them had the same surname, which was Smith. That put someone named Amanda Smith at the top of the list. Amanda?

  Lee struggled to focus. Could it be? Eleven girls all named Smith? All of whom were “outpatients”? And one of whom was named Amanda? That was interesting.

  Suddenly, all of the tiredness seemed to drop away as Lee clicked the “Amanda Smith” file open and began to scan the woman’s medical record. There were no mentions of fertility, pregnancy, or surrogacy. Nor did Amanda Smith have a diagnosis. But she had been subjected to physical exams every two weeks—the last of which had been carried out three days earlier!

  And there was something else. All of the personal data fields pertaining to Amanda Smith were empty with the exception of her address. That read, “Nickels Peak, Tucson, AZ”!

  And, after a quick check, Lee saw that the other ten were listed as residing on Nickels Peak, too. But, unlike Amanda Smith, eight of them were shown as “discharged.” Did that mean they had been sold? Odds were that it did.

  Lee felt a steadily rising sense of excitement as she looked at the Amanda Smith file again. The hill! Amanda was inside the hill! Or had been very recently. Keys clicked as she sent the file to a shared printer. That was when her phone began to vibrate. Lee turned it on, saw that Omo was calling, and thumbed the green bar. “Yes?”

  “A rent-a-cop just pulled into the lot,” Omo said grimly. “It looks like he plans to come inside. And that’s not all . . . He has a couple of mutimals with him.”

  Lee felt a stab of fear. Humans weren’t the only ones who were susceptible to B. nosilla. Animals were as well, which was how the term “mutimals” came into common usage.

  A lot of the animal mutations were unpleasant to look at but h
armless insofar as humans were concerned. But there were exceptions, like rattlesnakes that had become more venomous, bears that were measurably more intelligent than they had been previously, and dogs that behaved like wolves on steroids. Were two such animals about to enter the buildings? “Copy that,” Lee said. “I’m coming out. Disable his car if you can . . . And don’t come in. I’d hate to shoot you by mistake.”

  Lee thumbed the phone off and hurried to close both the file and the folder it was stored in. Maybe, just maybe, that would prevent the clinic’s personnel from figuring out what she’d been after. Lee stood and made her way over to the printer. The file had printed by then, and she took it off the feeder. She had to fold the sheets twice before sticking them under her belt.

  Then it was time to dump the burqa. Maybe there were hidden cameras in the clinic and maybe there weren’t. But one thing was for sure . . . There was no way that she could fight while wearing a sheet.

  Weapon in hand, Lee left the office and began to work her way toward one of the emergency exits identified earlier. She had only taken two steps when she heard a distant howl and a shouted command. “Get ’em, boys! Get ’em!”

  Lee swore. How did the rent-a-cop know that someone was on the premises? Had a signal been sent when she opened the “SOPV” file? Or were the mutimals that good? It hardly mattered as a male voice came over the intercom. “I know you’re in here, puke . . . And my dogs are coming for you! There’s no point in trying to get away—so you might as well bend over and kiss your ass good-bye.”

  Lee was holding the Glock with both hands as she advanced down the hallway. Her heart raced as she heard a skittering sound off in the distance. That was followed by overlapping howls as two mutimals rounded the corner ahead.

  They were big, at least the size of Great Danes, but looked like German shepherds. Their blue-black lips were pulled back to expose white fangs and pink gums. The mutimals growled in unison and charged straight at her, or tried to, since it was difficult for them to get sufficient traction.